


Navy Blue Hoodie, Just Bought

by contritum



Series: Welcome to the Game Fics [1]
Category: Welcome to the Game (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Gen, Please Proceed With Caution, Pre-Canon, Serial Killers, but this is welcome to the game. death does occur, i am not romantsizing the breather's actions.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-08 09:09:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20832947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/contritum/pseuds/contritum
Summary: With much encouragement from Adam, the Breather, as he'll later be called, does something that's been pent up for years. The culmination of a monster.





	Navy Blue Hoodie, Just Bought

He was overthinking this. Mike was absolutely, positively overthinking this. The anxious tapping of his boot against the floor echoed up and down the dingy stairwell, mixing with the clang of the apartment’s foundation slowly shifting, aging atop the concrete prison that was New York. He’d been standing on the penultimate floor of the stairwell for around thirty seconds, and he was already having second thoughts. What was the big deal, Adam would say? He’d done this before.

Of course Mike had done it before, but never like this. Never intentionally. He’d just woken up from this haze and everything was already over. He only ever had to deal with the aftermath, but he had still felt the rush- heart racing, beating out of his chest, pupils somehow dilating more than usual thanks to sleeping on that concussion. His hair would be standing on end right now if he had it. Right, that was on the benefits of alopecia, no DNA. As long as he didn’t get scratched. That just left him to worry about… every other possibility that could get him caught. He knew Adam would take care of it, but he couldn’t help it. He’d taken an Uber downtown to at least three blocks away, went and changed on the second, and stood around a corner for what felt like eons before ducking into the back alley of the meticulously picked, checked, and checked again apartment and picking the lock to the stairwell. He was wearing a navy blue hoodie, just bought. It smelled like the store, and it was a little too big, but that was the point. He had combat boots and pants that weren’t his size either- if he left footprints, they wouldn’t look like his. A surgical mask adorned his face, tight enough that you could see it swell with every breath out.

Mike was trying to ignore how excited he was about this. Sure, there was a pit in his stomach, but his head was buzzing. If his pupils went any wider the dingy blue-tinted lights would have blinded him, his irises were almost all gone, amber-brown barely visible, threatening to fall victim to the eclipse of black anticipation.

He zoned back in when he heard footsteps. Coming from up, they were leaving, so no one was expecting them. His heart started to race, he shifted his hand a little and winced at the way the oversized butcher knife grazed at his scarred inner arm. He’d started to tuck behind a corner and wiggle his sleeve up when his phone went off and Mike nearly jumped out of his skin. The knife cut into him a little and he tensed, shoving it and the knife into his jacket pocket and frantically checking his phone with the other hand, trying to seem casual. It wasn’t as if he could exactly blend in as some 6’9” guy in a hoodie standing in a stairwell during the middle of the night. The woman just gave him an odd glance as she made her way out.

It was just a text from Adam, something along the lines of ‘are you done’ or ‘are you okay’ or something. His vision was too unfocused to tell, and his mind was too busy festering in faraway places. How did someone ALWAYS manage to interrupt him? His jaw clenched and he gripped the knife harder. _Maybe I would’ve been done if you’d leave me alone. _

Mike was sitting on the metal steps now, about to type something out when he decided not to bother, yanked the battery out of its place and stuffed both pieces into one of his pockets so it wouldn’t bother him again. He didn’t even get the chance to put his head in his hands before he heard a door close from maybe two stories above him. Only two. He jumped up, zipping his hoodie a little too loudly, and tucked against the cold metal of the rails. He clutched the knife so hard in his hand that it shook.

It was only 10 or so seconds before the person turned the corner, the longest 10 seconds of his life. Throwing any and all precaution to the wind, Mike had them on the ground effortlessly. Red mist clouded his vision, he didn’t hesitate as the knife drove through something solid without him making the conscious decision to move it. He heard a distinctive crack. He did it again, and again, and again. Ringing and the sound of his own heart beating filled his ears, screams barely registering. He felt more and more blood splatter across this face and chest as he moved to target the throat, he used the knife a few more times on the soft, delicate flesh of their neck but quickly decided it was much easier to just crush it with his hands.

The man was long dead by then. He didn’t have the same look as people who died in hospitals did. He didn’t look peaceful. He looked scared, and Mike liked scared much better. He had soft brown hair and grey-blue eyes now stuck wide open, his face was recognizable but blood from his jugular and throat had been sprayed all over it. He had glasses. He looked young, like he was going to do something important with his life. And now? He’d been reduced to badly mangled pieces of flesh. Mike must’ve been hunched over the body for minutes, staring, asthmatic, sharp, labored breaths escaping him before he finally came to his senses and booked it out of there. The door to the apartment sealed shut with a little gush of air, locking him out and effectively making the stairwell the grey-eyed man’s tomb.

Immediately, he slumped against the brick wall of the alley, yanked his mask off, and emptied the contents of his stomach onto the ratty street. His chest felt like it would explode, his brain seemed to let go of so many tucked away, old memories akin to what had just went on and he almost felt high off of the cacophony of screams. The blood dripping down his face was warm. The drop that had managed to fall onto his lips almost tasted a little sweet. He felt like a _god. _

He pieced his phone back together and called Adam.

**Author's Note:**

> WOW this was fun to write. This was actually a piece I did for creative writing and touched up, so I figured I'd post it for our very small fanbase to enjoy. Obviously, this is just my interpretation and I am in no way saying that these events/my character interpretation lines up with canon. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed! (SHAMELESS PLUG) If you like fantasy/magical realism and war and all that jazz, check out my work The Great Divide!


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